Behind the mirror
by 116788
Summary: Some one shots on the marvellous story that is The Phantom of the Opera. Based on the stage show by our Lord Andy.
1. Poor fool

_Oh Christine, I must teach you how to receive compliments._

The girl was shy. So terribly, terribly shy.

I couldn't help but to chuckle upon seeing the helpless expression on that pretty face of hers as the audience was praising her into the heavens, that particular night. They kept telling her over and over that she had outdone herself and that even the brightest stars had not shone the way she had tonight. She rewarded their enthusiasm with a coy smile and ducked her head time after time. From the dark shadows, I watched her, as she received gifts, kisses and splendid bouquets of the most exotic flowers. Though I wished for my angel to be worshipped for her marvellously gifted voice, I also could not resist the urge to scoff under my breath. The way they were staring at her was scandallous; eyes dripping with lust for her beautiful face, ears wanting to hear her voice soar until her vocal cords would break and hands reaching for her as if she was their marionette, a doll they could posses and toy with. My entire chest tightened up and I instinctively let out a growl. Oh she was a doll, but she was _my_ doll. _I_ had shaped her into this precious songbird that everyone was able to enjoy. _I_ was the one who spent hours with her, perfecting her voice, nurturing it like a fragile flower that was just about to sprout. _I_ was the one getting her breathing centered, teaching her how to carry herself and how to get her nerves under control. And _I_ was the one who leveled up her acting skills, helping her finding meaning behind the words and in music. Only I had molded her into this. I had been there for her, when everyone else had left.

A part of me suddenly wondered if it was my ego that wanted recognition for her success tonight. After all, I was the one who had found the talent in her voice. But it was still _her_ voice, in _her_ body. And sure, their eyes were dripping with lust, but so were mine. Their ears wanted to hear her voice soar, but so did mine. No. I tried to throw these thoughts away, it wasn't greed. It was never greed. I had other reasons, better reasons. I wanted everyone to hear _my_ music, _my_ gift to the world. I wanted people to be able to enjoy this universal language and she was simply the best suited carrier. Nothing more.

 _Or was she?_

Tonight she had indeed excelled herself beyond anything I had hoped for. Though it was all her own work, and I had merely presented her the tools. After all, it had been her choice to use them or not. I had never pressured her into making those decisions. God, how I hated the public as much as I loved them. For they were essential pawns in my game, and I had to use them wisely, but they were annoying and not easy to please. Sure, I very much wished my songbird all the successes in the world and I would do nothing to harm the frail legacy she had just started to build. At least her foundations were solid. So, I stayed hidden in the shadows and hoped that this mad circus would end soon so that I could claim her for myself again.

The crowd continued to drool over the poor girl, who was exhausted and had been pushed beyond her limits. She had truly given every fiber of her body for this performance and she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her chambers and rest. I grimaced upon the people carelessly violating her personal boundaries. Gripping at her arms and shoulders, almost crushing her into the corner with no possible way out. All the while demanding she'd answer every question they threw at her feet, expecting to reveal all her cards at once. Where did she learn to sing like this? Who was her teacher? Had her parents forced her into this? Was she the secret weapon of the opera? Was it fake? The poor girl couldn't even start to answer one question before another was asked. Madness. Pure madness.

She looked so petrified, her eyes darting from one person to the other. Though everyone was looking at her, she couldn't find the one pair of eyes she sought. A tired sigh escaped her physically drained body. Bags were now clearly visible under her eyes and her shoulders had started drooping a long time ago. I wanted nothing more than to pull her into a hug and sing until she drifted off into the blissful waves of my music. But I couldn't spoil anything now, I had to stay hidden. She was strong. She'd find a way out. I couldn't help but notice the small flinches she gave as the press swarmed after her like flies on honey. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed constantly as she tried to remain calm and steady on her feet, eventhough she was pushed in nearly every direction. She did not have a single minute to herself, to enjoy the overwhelming success of tonight. Her personal success. Slowly, so very slowly, she managed to make her way to her dressing room, the crowd still following her on her heels. God, had no one ever heard of privacy? I reminded myself that next time, we were going to have to do things a little differently. When she finally reached her door, she did not forget to apologise before slipping into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

I, too, moved. The were certain pros that came with building your own opera house, for example, knowledge of rooms, corridors and doors that were hidden from the public. I slid into a secret passage that led me from the general corridor directly into the familiar small pathway behind her mirror. From there, I watched her as she let herself fall down onto the divan. Finally able to sit after a long evening. Quickly, she began to pull out the pins of her intricate bun and sighed tiredly but satisfied as she let the chestnut curls fall graciously down her shoulders and over her back. I grunted deeply as my chest started to ignite a fire again. But this time a fire of passion and desire for her. Under my breath, I both cursed and praised her ability to stir up all these feelings inside of me with a task as basic as undoing hair. Though I wasn't surprised since just her mere existence was able to undo me.

A loud and rather arrogant knock on her door managed to make us both jump in our respective places. She moved quickly and had barely thrown a modest dressing gown around her bare shoulders, to which I grimaced in dismay, when the door was confidently opened and a young man proudly strode in. Head high, a simple suit and a sloppy tie. I pinched my nosebridge. My, God, is this what they call fashion nowadays? Christine paid zero attention to his attire and immediately asked for his credentials, wanting to know the reasing to why he had come bursting into her room like he was the Pope himself. The boy, however, plainly ignored her, threw a rose on her desk and started boasting about how they knew each other as children.

Christine, too tired to send the young man away, picked up the rose instead and smelled it. A dreamy smile graced her lips as she stared into nothingness, she had always been a dreamy one. I felt myself frowning. What was so special about this single rose? Hadn't I sent her roses after every performance she did? At least I wasn't that cheap to gift her a single rose, I had sent her large bouquets of the most colourful roses I could find. Yet here she was, smiling upon that damned single rose of that damned probably single boy.

The young blond man suddenly walked up behind Christine and decided that it was a good idea to rest his hands on her shoulders. Every cell in my body wanted to jump out of that mirror so badly to show this imbicile a little decency. But I could not reveal myself, not like this. So instead, I balded my fists tightly and concentrated on keeping my emotions under control. How dare he, touching _my_ Christine! The boy knew her for barely a minute and already started to make moves.

 _How dare this youth!_ _Sure, why don't you go ahead and get married while you're at it._

Who did this boy think he was anyway? Fancy clothes, smooth talk and some money in the bank did not automatically make you the best suitor. I had found this out the hard way. A woman's heart opens upon trust, reassurance, patience and a lot of love. Besides, I had known Christine for years and had not once made a move on her. No matter how much my poor body screamed for even a hint of her loving gaze, or the slightest of the soft touch I dreamed she would have. Not once, had I tried to woo her. Instead, I had spent those years sculpting her into the woman she was now, preparing her for the adult life she would eventually have to lead. Years I had spent trying to only see her as my massively talented student, trying to see her as nothing else besides that. Years I had spent, trying to repress that hungry, yearning feeling for her affection. That unbearable feeling that had only grown stronger over the last few months. Yet, I have never laid so much as one finger on her. I've always hightly respected the rights she had as a woman.

But here was this.. _this boy_ , intruding her holy temple like some mad driven monkey!

What was even worse, Christine didn't seem to mind this _violation_ and had decided to join the boy in his ridiculously lousy small talk, hell, she even touched his hand. Out of sympathy, I decided firmly. Not love. Not love! The boy then joked about their shared memories of the past. Memories that did not include me. I tried everything but to vomit at my own feelings of sad self pity. I was better than this. Oh I would have loved to show this boy how a real man talked to a woman. But I couldn't destroy what I had so carefully build up for the last few years, not now. I was almost there, I couldn't ruin it over some precious little snuck up boy. Though it pained me that this was how he thought she deserved to be treated.

 _Boy, you simply remind her of what used to be, at least I am the one who reminds her of what yet has to come._

Their meaningless conversation went on for a few minutes or so, but then suddenly the mood shifted drastically, much to my delight. The cocky boy had invited Christine for dinner, that was being hosted in her honour, but she graciously declined. Instead, she said she'd rather spend some time alone to thank her teacher, her Angel of Music. I smiled broadly upon hearing that she most certainly had not forgotten the one who had helped her from the beginning.

 _That's my girl._

The boy wouldn't have any of it and decided for the both of them that they should attend the celebration dinner, everyone would be there. And he certainly would take the oppertunity to show her off, I heard myself thinking. He continued to tell her that she'd have two minutes to change into something prettier. Something. Prettier. The girl could've have worn nothing and she'd still be prettier than the face of God Himself. It was that exact moment that I decided I had enough of his childish nonsense. The door had barely been closed and I let my voice boom through her entire dressing room. "That insolent boy! His nerve, for basking in _your_ glory! I should sow his mouth shut for having offended you in the face, and for having stolen the triumph that belongs to only me!"

Christine's body tensed up as her Angel of Music presented itself to her in this grand and bold way. She shuddered upon my rage that drilled into her to the core. Outbursts as these, she knew very well for my thin patience has not been one of my positive virtues. Though no matter how many times I assured they were never directly towards her, they always managed to still terrify her. Her voice quivered as she addressed me in shame. "Please Angel, I only sang for you tonight! Forgive my weak soul, I owe you everything."

She stood up and walked to the middle of the room, where she thought her angel would see her best. "Speak to me, show me and guide me! Please, master!"

My ego was lifted high upon realising again how easily dominated she was and how she feared me. The power was mine, and I would gladly remind her of it. In this, I took pride, though it was sinful to use such an innocent little thing as a confidence boost. But I'll have you know, I could never stay angry with her for long, she was too pure and true of heart. I slowly felt the fire inside of me disappear and I found myself softening up sooner than I had intended to. I lowered my voice and tried to find the warmth in the lower regions of my vocal cords. It seemed to help as she slowly stopped shaking and visibly relaxed in my prescence. "My dear, you flatter me. Tonight, I shall grant you your wish. Not only shall you hear me, but you shall see me as well."

My chest fluttered with pure joy when I saw her eyes lighten up, for I knew she was excited to meet her mysterious angel at last. "Know why the shadow is my friend. Look inside the mirror, child."

She slowly turned around and stared at the life size mirror, her expression resembling that of a five year old in a candy store. And it was as if she then finally realised that she was never truly alone in this room and that I must have been watching her getting ready for every performance and returning afterwards. She stepped closer to the mirror and coyly bit her lower lip, stirring up the muscles in my lower belly and making me grunt under my damned mask. Her light eyes found mine at last and I melted completely. Instantly, I pulled down the lever that would open my world for her. Finally, I revealed myself to her and I watched as her curious eyes scanned me from head to toe.

To my surprise, she then stretched out her hands, almost wanting to make sure that I was real and not a dream. She wanted to touch me, she wanted me to invite her. Oh, I gladly obeyed.

"I _am_ , your angel of music," I whispered and noticed the gloom in her eyes as her legs automatically lead her to me.

 _Good girl._

Her fingers had barely touched my hand and already a jolt of electricity shot up my spine, stabbing my inner core with pleasurable waves. I felt as if I had fallen into a whirpool of endless bliss, as if the heavens themselves had opened themselves up and poured all their glory onto me. Her touch was indeed as soft as I had imagined, if not softer. And it sent me into all the dimensions of the universe. Thirstily, I drank in her beautiful sight before me. Her gorgeously long hair framing her delicate face, the white silk dressing gown hugging her body in all the right places, complimenting her slender though feminine physique and the fair tender skin that stretched out over her long and lean limbs.

 _God, forgive me for the things I so desperately want to do to her._

In utter bliss, I closed my hand around her smaller one and held her tight, fearing that if I let go, she'd vanish into thin air. She seemed to be totally entranced by her Angel that she couldn't take her eyes off of me. And she was more than willing to follow me onto the steps that lead into the dark pathway. I was so taken in by the sight of her real form, standing in front of me, touching me, that a loud knock on the door momentarily caught me off guard. The two minutes were up and the boy had come back to fetch Christine. But he had come too late, I celebrated the victorious feeling that she had chosen to come with me instead of that upper class snob. Quickly but gently, I pulled Christine completely into the mirror, closing the double glass directly behind her. The boy stumbled into the room and found it empty. Confusion was written all over his dumbstrucken face and I laughed silently.

Besides managing to upset me in every way possible, the poor fool also made me laugh.


	2. It's ok to feel

In the dead of the night, he came home at last. His home looked cold and abandoned when he entered. The candles had long burned out, leaving everything coated in a blanket of pitch black. Not that he minded, he saw very well in the dark. Knew where everything was placed, memorised the entire lay out in his head. Softly and swiftly, he moved through the house, not making any sound as he glided from one room to the other. What he was looking for, he did not know. Did not want to know. It was not like she would be here. Not anymore.

His kitchen was cold and empty, the left-over food still in the sink and the utensils thrown to the side. He had not bothered cleaning it up back then, he did not bother now. The air was dense and his mask scraped over his raw skin, leaving it irritated and blistered. Still, he did not take it off. Not yet. He drew a match and lit a single candle. The door of her room was open yet he did not enter. The room was dark and his candle cast strange shadows on the walls and furniture, making it look almost foreign and unrecognisable to him. The bed was neatly made, her nightgown carefully folded upon the duvet. The flowers on her desk were withered. There was no note, no sign at all of communication to him. His palm rested against the wood of her door, feeling the flat smooth surface beneath his rough calloused fingertips. The wood had been carefully selected and hand painted. White, to resemble her innocence. Now it started to fade of age with a few cracks showing here and there. He sighed, swallowed thickly and then closed her door with no intention of ever opening it again.

The music room was the final room he entered. The soft sounds of crackling wood alarmed him. He pressed his back against the wall and pushed open the door with his left hand. Curious but careful, he peeked in. The room looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Papers with his music were everywhere. Some were torn, some laid on the organ and most just laid on the cold stone floor. Bits and pieces of music floated through his ears as his eyes scanned the room. His once perfected opera was now torn apart, screaming strange notes he did not recall having ever written down. Who could have done this? He wondered, for he had cleared the house personally and there had been no sign of possible entry besides him. Surely, _she_ could not have done this to his music? Sighing deeply with the intention of trying to restore the music, he stepped into the room and began collecting his precious pieces when he suddenly stopped.

Lying in the middle of all those papers, behind the sofa, was she, of all people. Danger flushed over him and he stepped closer, reached out to see if she was hurt or bleeding. The gentle movement of her chest rising and falling made him realise she was simply sleeping. Relieved he let out a sigh. Curled up like a dog, she was in front of the fireplace that burned a low fire. The flames cast mysterious shadows on her. Complimenting her delicate features that he loved so much. Dark curls hung dishevelled around her shoulders and tracks of dried up tears were on her lovely cheeks. She had cried. He knew. A pang in his heart. He had made her cry again. Of all the emotions a human could feel, so far, he had only managed to make her cry. He took off his coat and slowly lowered himself into the comfortable chair. He watched her and did not want to wake her just yet. It felt like as in old times, where he would watch over his angel as she slept. His watchful eyes never leaving her, harm would not touch her. He noticed that she was not wearing one of her usual dresses. It wasn't a nightgown either, for it was too short. Then he realised that it was one of his shirts, for the sleeves had been rolled up to fit her shorter arms.

It pleased him tremendously, seeing her dressed in one of his clothing. Though he wasn't pleased that she had been rummaging through his closet, in _his_ room. But he had to admit that he had burst into her room multiple times without giving her the decency of knocking. Disastrous was the time when she had been in the middle of dressing. She had squealed, thrown a shoe at his head and had shouted at him, ordered him to leave at once. And he had been too dumbstruck and could not even be mad at the fact that she had just bossed him around.

A short-strangled gurgle sound filled the room and made him jump in his chair, only to realise the sound had come from his own throat. A chuckle, deep. Reminiscing, loving. He shook his head, _love_. What did he know about love? He wasn't capable of love. And yet he loved her, would do anything to see her happy, to see her smile. Though in the span of barely a month, he had made her cry almost every day. He shook his head, no, he was not the one destined for love.

A soft groan. She rose, drowsily. Rubbed her eyes clumsily as a vague smile hung around her lips. She looked so beautiful and he couldn't help it but smile tenderly. Then, she noticed him in the chair, quickly scrambled to her feet. Drowsiness in her eyes was gone, they became cold and hard and almost tore up his soul. He stood up too, always trying to be courteous and a gentleman. His shadow engulfed her entire form into darkness. It did not suit her, so he stepped away and watched contently how the warm autumn colours of the flames hugged her body and cast away his coldness. Azure eyes that resembled the ocean of his youth stared at him, accusingly. The house was quiet, except for the fire that seemed to crackle contently. It would not be quiet for long.

"You left me." She croaked, kept her gaze at him and did not even blink.

His chest tightened and burned him from the inside out. Those three words tore up his entire soul. A promise he had made her a long time ago, that he would never leave. Yet he had done so. Broken his promise. Broken her trust. He couldn't come up with a good excuse. He had left her, thinking she would be better off without him. Thinking she would run right back to the safe haven that was Raoul. But she didn't. She had stayed. For him. It made him feel like he was worth something, that he was worth the wait for her. But it also made his heart ache and his mind dizzy, for he could not find any reason as to why she had stayed.

He could offer her nothing, too poor to buy luxurious clothes for her, too ugly to appear appealing to anyone and too monstrous to deserve a life amongst the living. He was poor in every way. The only thing he had to offer was music, his music, to which she had responded so deeply and passionately. Making him believe that there could be more than human communication, making him hope for a supernatural connection. Something that stretched far above the heavens and where two beautiful spirits could share a dance.

But he wasn't beautiful in spirit. He had murdered, manipulated and lied.

Stuck in the inner ramblings of his mind, he suddenly felt the need to touch her, feel her. He needed to know if she was real, and not some other illusion or trick that his brains liked to play on him.

"You _left_ me." She repeated, making him focus on her again. Her lip quivered. The tears started streaming again. She looked so small, so fragile. Standing only dressed in his shirt, that reached almost to her knees. _His_ shirt. That she had put on while he was gone. While he had been out, trying to forget her. Trying to tell himself that he didn't deserve even a look from her. And she had been here. Dressed in his clothes. As if she needed a physical reminder of him.

"I came back." He answered and almost wanted to fall before her on his knees, to kiss her feet and exclaim that he had been foolish, that he loved her. That he needed her. But he couldn't do it, for he was not the sentimental type.

"Yes. You came back." She wrapped her arms around her upper body and looked frail, so terribly frail. Tired eyes travelled to his. The moment they connected, his heart leaped. Yearned for her touch, her gentle words and her soft smiles. He had only been gone for a few days, yet it felt as though it had been a life time. He couldn't bear it. A life time without her by his side. Without her to guide him through. It hurt too much even thinking about it. How he had managed those few days was a mystery to him. He didn't even want to think about how she had managed.

He watched her silently. Dark bags under her eyes due to many sleepless nights. Chapped lips, hollow cheeks. He had left, thinking she would be better off. Only to find her in a worse state. She seemed to be contemplating, eyes glazed over, mind not present. As if she was daydreaming. He found himself staring at her naked legs, dancer's legs. Long and elegant. The skin resembled porcelain, fair and clean. He supressed a growl and knew that what he was feeling was wrong on so many levels. Never had he seen so much of her body, everything always had been hidden carefully by hundreds of layers of fabrics. He knew what he was feeling, _desire_ grew within him. Desire was for the living, the dead, the monstrous, the carcasses did not feel. And so, he supressed his emotions, told himself he did not feel, did not care. But he did.

"I told you how I felt." She whispered. "I finally was able to tell you, and how did you react? You ran off, left me all alone." She resembled a child, looking up at him with those big eyes. "Why?"

He ran his hand through his fake hair. Why. That simple word had ruled his entire life. Why had he gone? Why had he even come back? Why had she agreed to marry him? Why had he _almost_ killed that boy? Why _had_ he killed two men? And why, in Heaven's name, was _she_ thrust into his life? He found that he did not, and never would know the answers to those questions.

"Why did you _stay_?" He asked her in return.

"Because I knew you'd come back to me." She took a hesitant step towards him, hand stretched to his face. He trembled when her fingers travelled over his mask, dangerously close to the edges, wanted to turn his face from her, shield him with the coat of darkness. Almost hid from her until she spoke.

"I don't want to be afraid of you. Because you have so much more qualities besides provoking angst. And I'd like to get to know them."

Her hand ran through his hair, almost lovingly. He cherished the feeling of her delicate fingers over his scalp, inhaling sharply and closing his eyes for a brief moment.

"You will always be afraid of me." He argued.

"Perhaps, but there are also times when I truly believe that I'm not, and that I can love you, just as you love me."

He snickered bitterly. "You don't love me. You love the idea of me, the idea that I have planted in your head."

Not able to handle the intensity of her stare, he turned away. He felt vulnerable when she looked at him like that, as if she stripped him from his mask, all of his clothes, vocabulary and mannerisms. Completely naked he felt before her.

"I know what I feel." She murmured to his broad back.

It was silent for long, too long. He didn't know what to do, he didn't move, couldn't bear to walk away from her again. Behind him, he could hear her breathing, ragged and short breaths. He tried to find his manliness and turn around and kiss her on her lips without regrets. But he was no man, and he couldn't find the power. Soft shuffling of her feet told him she was moving. And then, suddenly her hands were on his shoulder and his arm, turning him around gently.

"I know how you feel for me." She straightened her shoulders and looked him deep in the eyes without any hesitation.

And right then and there, she had matured in front of his eyes. And he wondered, where the time had gone where she was simply his student and he the master. No feelings, no emotions. Just music and singing, hours spent at the organ, perfecting her craft. Just the two of them and the music that binded them forever. Now she stood before him, all grown up, making choices and fully well aware of the consequences. In the span of barely a year, so much had changed. And he found himself sometimes wanting to turn back time, have simplicity back. A time where he wasn't confused and where his only passion was music. A time when the world still made sense.

He gulped upon his realisation.

Nothing made sense when she was here with him, yet he wasn't caught up in the tumultuous waves of the ocean that threatened to drown him over and over again. With her, it felt like he was swimming in a pool of pure bliss and wonder, not caring about anything except for seeing a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes.

Her touch on his face made him inhale sharply. She was cupping his cheeks with her palms, one against his skin, one against the porcelain mask. If it bothered her, she didn't show. Softly, she pulled his face down until their foreheads touched and he could feel her breath against his skin.

"It's ok," she whispered. "It's ok to feel."

Her fingers slid towards one side of his face and he closed his eyes, very much aware of what she was about to do next. Remembering her reaction to when she last had taken off his mask, he tried to prepare himself for the inevitable, only to feel her fingers wipe away the tears against his eyelashes.

"Open your eyes and look at me." She commanded and waited patiently until he was ready.

Confused, he opened his eyes and found her smiling at him. Eyes glistening with tears. She had never looked more beautiful and he was surprised when his thumb had found her lower lip and caressed it gently as if he wanted to feel her smile. He was even more surprised when she didn't flinch back from his touch. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled deeper into his chest. He rested his face on her chestnut curls and relished how perfectly well she fit against his broad frame.

"Please, do not leave me for so long ever again." She begged and pulled him even closer, two bodies becoming one. He felt himself melting and the fire in his chest finally died out. He was here, and she was here with him. And it would be alright.

It was still in the middle of the night, but he had finally come home. At last.


End file.
